The Devil has Thick Eyebrows
by shanerose
Summary: Arthur was definitely feeling depressed. He didn't eat, he didn't sleep and he didn't smile at all. And the just the thought of having that American in the same room wasn't helping at all.


Oh, Arthur was definitely feeling depressed. He didn't eat, he didn't sleep and, even though he didn't use to do it frequently, he didn't smile at all. Actually, the truth was that he held a grudge against every single human being alive (and, probably, against the dead ones as well…). The Briton couldn't understand how people could get so attached to each other. For him that was surely stupid and it didn't make any fricking sense! People should spend more time working hard to achieve something big, like power, instead of thinking about love!

_This is unbelievable. Just too damn unbelievable. There's no way that I could feel something for a fucking living person. What could be better than power? That delicious force that corrupts you and destroys your tiny mind. Oh! Sweet Lord. That's simply music to my ears. But I believe I'll be great again. Greater than anything that I had ever been before._ Arthur thought while taking a sip of his boiling hot tea.

Suddenly, a man entered the small living room. He was Arthur's co-worker, Alfred F. Jones, an American whose personality was completely the opposite of the Englishman's; he was a tall blond bloke with intense baby blue eyes that always shined with joy and, while the British was prickly and moody, he was cheerful and charming. In fact, Alfred was the kind of person that everyone liked. And his handsome appearance added to this.

"Hey Artie! Whatcha ya doin'?" the American asked with lively enthusiasm.

"Bloody hell!" the Britannic said with a shocked look on his pale face. And then he proceeded, "how dare you to call me 'Artie'? I am neither your bloody brother nor your fucking friend, you annoying wanker! Besides, I think I made myself clear when it was announced that we would be sharing the same hotel room. You know perfectly well how I despise you and I do not want any unnecessary contact with a git like you."

Alfred's expression changed completely while he was listening to those cold and rough words. Even his beautiful eyes became full of sorrow.

"Arthur... I guess that was way too harsh. But, if you see me like that there's nothing I can do… er… right?" Alfred asked, hoping for a 'No, it's not like that' or something similar coming out from the other blond's mouth.

"That's one hundred per cent correct. I'm glad you're finally getting what I meant. Maybe you are not completely retarded after all." Arthur stated with a wide smirk.

"Er… Fine, then. Well, I have to go to the bathroom, please excuse me." As he said this, the American left the living room and the British gave him a cocky look.

The Englishman was definitely proud of himself; he had finally managed to shut that bloody lad up; the bright American smile that he always had on his face had, at last, disappeared and Alfred was surely heartbroken after what he had just heard.

_I had no doubts that he would give up. Well, eventually. But it was clearly faster than I had expected! _He thought while drinking a bit of his Earl Grey.

Meanwhile, Alfred was looking at his reflexion on the mirror; his face showed an intense gloom and his eyes were no longer light blue, instead, they were filled with an odd greyish blue.

"Why? Gosh! This guy has definitely some serious issues. I mean, what did I do to him?" the blond said to himself. "No. I will not accept defeat. After all, I'm American and everybody knows that the citizens of the United States of America never give up! I'll show him! In the end he'll think of me as his best buddy! I promise that!"

Alfred washed his face and with it all his concerns and fears vanished. When he looked in the mirror this time he could see the same old Alfred Jones; the smile that had faded returned brighter than ever.

He took one more look at the reflective surface and straightened his glasses. Then, he hastily left the bathroom and grabbed his beige gabardine. However, before he left the hotel room he said with a smile "I'm leaving for dinner. I'll probably be late. Wanna come?" He didn't get any reply.

"Then, I'll take that as a no. See ya." And with that he quietly closed the door behind him.

This time, Arthur didn't give him an answer just to show him his displeasure. In fact, he fell asleep in the leather armchair and the blue eyed guy overlooked that aspect.

That brute looked absolutely harmless while sleeping; his features were just like an angel's: soft white skin, silky golden hair, a slightly upturned nose and beautiful elegant hands. Well, he also had bushy eyebrows but that attribute actually gave him a certain charm.

However, he had a painful look on his face. Was he having a nightmare? It was quite likely about his tough and disturbed childhood. Poor little thing, that explains a lot about his character.

Arthur Kirkland was the son of Sir Thomas Kirkland, a powerful British aristocrat, but his mother's name was never reported to him; therefore, he never had the chance to meet her. Unfortunately his father died when he was only four years old and the young Briton was sent to an orphanage. No one had ever explained to him if he had to be there because he didn't have any relatives or if none of his kin actually wanted him.

Just when he arrived at that institution, his life turned into a living hell and his father was the one to blame; in order to increase his fortune he had killed, stolen, violated and abused every single person that got in his way. Some rumors were spread that Arthur was the result of a rape and that his mother was decapitated by Sir Kirkland himself. But that's probably just gossip.

With just three years old, the little Master was already considered a genius, and truth to be told, that used to pester a considerable number of people; he spoke fluent and perfect English, he followed the etiquette rules and he was already learning to play the piano. Oh! The three-year-old boy was undoubtedly arrogant and due to that, he never had any friends. That fact worsened his situation in the orphanage; in the end, he was alone.

He had never confided to anyone what kind of horrors he had suffered. That way, people would have felt pity for him. Good Grief! That would be the end of Arthur Kirkland! He could stand the fact that he was disliked but being pitied? Never in his life! He was awfully 'Lord of his nose' to accept that and he knew how miserable his life would be if his secrets were finally revealed…

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><p>Thanks to xSirKirkland for pointing out the fact that thoughts should be in italic! :D It surely gets a lot easier to read.<p> 


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